Insurance
It had always been undeniable, Konoha's corruption that is, but that was only because they went through the effort to disguise it. Mistakes were often unwelcomed and warranted only disdain from their superiors. , once a revered warrior, found a single mistake deadly. It had always been the assumption that he killed himself, but he was a warrior bred for war. What did he care if his peers hated him? What did he care if the people cursed his name as he walked through the streets of konoha? His son adored him, and the families of the men he spared blessed his name. The irony of a village who promotes a philosophy of Friendship and love was strong. What his death proved only was that even the heroes of the village were never truly safe. Shikaniku took the story of the White Fang to heart as his superiors issued the orders. In midst of his thoughts, the shinobi leaped towards him, almost hesitantly, and it was that lack of confidence that was his downfall. Shikaniku, uncaringly, sliced him down, having used that instant of reluctance to draw his own sword. He turned to face the shinobi that stood before his deceased comrades. "I almost expected more," Shikaniku spoke, shaking the blood off off of his sword's steel, "But, I guess Kumogakure isn't the village that it once was." He gave the shinobi a pointed look. "Afterall, you do want.." a brief paused interrupted his dialogue as a flickered into existence in his hand, "this, right? It has to mean that you're village is truly in a tough position if you're willing to trade for a weapon that only a fraction of your population can use. No?" His tone was condescending, and outright disrespectful as he courageously, or perhaps arrogantly, teased the enemy ninja. "Not since that bastard took ever, it ain't," beamed Shibui, watching as his comrades had been killed right before his eyes. Well, that was one more squadron of troops he had failed to protect within the last week. "Shit, that's gonna be on me again." Kneeling down, he ran his fingers over the eyelids of his now deceased team commander, sealing them shut. "Yo, my b, dawg, my b." It was odd; there was most certainly pain within Shibui's heart, though not for the death of his comrades —no, he had grown accustomed to that by now— but rather, for his own career. How in the hell had it all collapsed on him like so? As far as he was concerned, he had everything going for him. Had he done it right, first would have been the money, then the bitches. Unfortunately, that wasn't how it turned out… not in the slightest. Here he was, standing within a forest flustered with trees under a starry night sky, no better than a lowly genin, perhaps facing his own demise. Even so, he wasn't about to beg for his life. Mama had always told him to go out with a bang. Glancing around, he then rose slowly to his feet, chakra particles gathering about every ounce of his being, stemming from each of his hands. "Aight, I'ma tell you what I'm about ta do," he started, digging a hand into his back pocket, leading to a sound that was not unlike the crumbling of a sheet of paper. "I'ma kick yo ass, that's what. That way, maybe that'll save my own ass from being sent back to the academy." Then, he clapped his hands together and charged forward, straight ahead in the direction of his enemy. Shikaniku spared very little time, nor effort, in his assault. Extending the palm of his hand towards Shibui, the instant that he begun charging, his had begun the process of conjuring the magical energies within his body. Then, in an instant, his puckered lips expelled a torrent of air; the giant oaks that reached to clench the heavens collapsed, and almost uncaringly, they were blown away from Shikaniku. The moonlight illuminated the solid objects that scattered across the terrain in its gentle radiance. To Shikaniku it was beautiful, and garnered a smirk of his own. Unsurprisingly, his shadow's own arrogant imitation sparkled in the brisk of the night. However unfortunate, the blast of wind went unvanquished, for Shibui had flickered out of view in that very instance, reappearing at the flank of his enemy, which, for the most part, had been left unguarded. Even so, from a tactical perspective, it had been quite clever of the Nara to provide more "breathing room" for his shadows. Airborne, the boy intertwined his hands into an array of sequences, before retrieving a kunai from his radiant tool pouch and swinging toward the back of Shikaniku's neck with vicious speed, hoping to capture the man between the intervals of his own attack and retrieval, all whilst the smug grin was still plastered about his face. Had he had time to spare, Shikaniku may have offered his enemy a chuckle, or another gesture to show his rather impressed nature. Shibui was fast. That was no doubt, but often was that the case for most Kumogakure shinobi, who, themselves, boasted nothing but excessive physical feats worthy of mentioning. It was almost exactly why he didn't expect anything less of his opponent, and that was the exact reason he had begun preparing for it the instant he finished his last assault. He was amused that his enemy hadn't caught on to his delicate trap, or, maybe he had. When Shibui disappeared, Shikaniku's shadow, having already been animated, lept from the earth in a barrage of towards the airborne shinobi, intended to catch him in the midst of his own momentum before his own weapon could reach Shikaniku, all the whilst the smug grin was still plastered about his face. As it were, Shibui hadn't anticipated the extension of a shadow to be his undoing. Creeping from every angle, the sculpted threads leapt from the abyss and pierced through him, bringing the struggles of his feet and the trembles of his hands to an abrupt end. Gritting his teeth, he somehow brought himself to speak through the pain. "Y-you ass... hole… Why don't you face me like a man...?" Curling his lips, he aimed a wallop of spit toward the ground, scorched with trinkets of his rich, red blood. His breath grew heavy, tainting the back of Shikaniku's neck, where his kunai should have been moments earlier. He tried to shake himself free of the grasp, though to no avail. Like an insect caught in a spider's web, he had seemingly been caught. More and more blood spewed from his mouth, and he appeared to be fighting back a certain cause --could this be death? His eyes betraying him, he spoke in shortened bursts. "The n-next time you see my face... w-will be your last, goddammit..." He kept but a single one of his eyes open, hoping to catch one final glimpse of his opponent before his head rolled downward toward his chest. He felt like he was looking into a mirror as he stared into Shibui's eyes. Those green/blue hue twinkled under the dim moon that sought vengeance; they radiated an aura of explosive anger, and Shikaniku would have lied to himself had he not been impressed. "Genjutsu?" He inquired to himself. It was an impressive illusion, that Shikaniku could not deny, yet it was the words and implausibility of this shinobi's offense that ultimately convinced him. Disrupting his flow, a swirl of illusions came to a close as he broke the shinobi's control over his own body. As he stared at the shinobi, he prepared the fan. "So, whatever happened to that piece of paper?" However, the world remained unchanged. Which could have only meant one thing —there was no genjutsu. Shibui brought himself to speak one last time, blood spewing endlessly from his mouth. He had been fighting back a certain urge, suspending chakra to maintain a specific form. But what was it? What could it have been? "Naw," he said, before his frame suddenly dispersed into a cloud of smoke, in its wake a log bearing a tag of paper. It was the answer to the Shikaniku's question, though now it was too late, far too late. He could do no more than watch helplessly as his speculation shattered into reality before him, and the hard truth resounded in a bang. The last thing Shikaniku would have remembered was the activation of the paper, flaring as it did into a stubbled crisp, before emanating a large clap of thunder that consumed what appeared to be the entirety of the forest with its impalpable power, akin to that of a large scale flash bomb. Sparks of electricity flew every which way, zapping at the trees and invoking flames at the slightest of touches, though it would have been nothing in comparison to the full blunt force of which Shikaniku would have inevitably experienced, having been within point blank range of the seal's activation. Appearing in the place of where the log had initially been, Shibui leapt into action and found cover within the branches of a burning tree, using the clatter to guise his position and instigate the next phase of his plan at the very same instance. His hands, forming a conjecture, served as the basis to this next portion, digging back into his back pocket henceforth. He was lucky to escape with his life, and as he remembers the situation he kept telling himself that it’d only last for a second; it was a lie. His skin flaked, his eyes burned, and his pride…shattered. His clothes had been the first to go, then, once he could squint enough to make out shapes, his form quickly followed. Without a doubt, had the enemy have been analytically observing, they would’ve saw Shikaniku become the ghostly apparition that was once his shadow immediately after the technique was cast, though it was his lack of vocal chords that prevented his agonizing screams from drenching his ears in its horrific pleasure. They had won, and it was his fault to blame. He had been fortunate that he never contracted a debilitating injury. At the sight of the flash bomb, he almost chuckled outright at the attempt. Afterall, it wasn’t the first time someone decided to detonate an explosive in his face. His shadow responded immediately to his command, tossing the log away carelessly away from himself, buying just enough time. Roaring, he uttered the incarnations as he waved the fan towards the earth, and what erected from it was a dome of hardened earth that encapsulated him within the confines of its protection the moment Shibui’s explosive tag erupted. The dome trembled under the pressure of the blast, and with it the earth almost became a fine sand that seemingly collapsed under the pressure, yet almost as quickly as it turned it had become restored. With his crimson bandana, that had once been a bright, emerald green only moments before the fight, Shikaniku poofed into existence, standing among the flamed remains of his dome. “Nearly…” He scanned his surroundings ferociously, awaiting his opponent's attack. From behind a tree emerged several replications of Shibui, confronting Shikaniku immediately. All armed with kunai, they stormed forth, and like any shinobi, Shikaniku would have instinctively begun to formulate some sort of defense mechanism, whether it came from his shadow or another medium. The clones inched closer and closer, until more clones revealed themselves from the remains of other trees, cornering the Nara from every angle. And then it happened. They had fulfilled their purpose of being a distraction, of prolonging the dream. It was a rather risky maneuver, having gone through with genjutsu after his opponent had incorrectly suspected it earlier. Though nevertheless, it had worked like a charm. Activating the Lightning Release: Lightning Illusion Flash of Lightning Pillar through the use of the transcription seal, he had scored a direct hit to Shikaniku's eyes, forcing him to see a false reality, "burning" them in the process, keeping him busy whilst in reality, he had supplied himself with more than enough time to conduct a checkmate of the sorts, twice over. In made little difference whether Shikaniku's body was tangible or not; the fact that he had been exposed to the flash of light would have meant that he had fallen prey to the genjutsu before all else. What awaited Shikaniku in the real world was a kunai influenced by an electrical charge running through his throat en route to having his head severed. The holder of the weapon was but the actual reflection of Shibui, whilst he himself hid behind a tree, panting heavily due to the amount of efforts he had placed forth in setting his plans into action. By the time Shikaniku would have caught onto the illusion —or even coincidentally, somehow managed to decipher it within the moments of Shibui's attack— it would have been far too late; Shibui's kunai would have plunged through his throat at the very least, no matter how fast one shinobi could have possibly been. The Kunai surged through its target with impeccable speed, wisping through the with particularly little resistance. Embedded deep within the earth, as his clone was destroyed, Shikaniku flinched as the experiences of his own flushed over his mind. A silent "ouch" was his only immediate response as he carved through the earth beneath the forest until he was directly under the panting figure several feet above him. He thanked the magnetic fields of the earth, and ultimately of the people who emitted them, allowing them to bestow him with the knowledge necessary to construct an attack. Placing the basoshen into his robe, allowing pieces of crumbled paper to fall out as he put it in, Shikaniku slammed his hands together in a ferocious array that silently roared as chakra surged through his body, manifesting into his palms. When he touched the earth, it all slowly oozed into a brown, mess of slush and slob that took the form of a volatile river; the very earth that was beneath Shibui's feet would become a ocean of mud, devouring trees, and assimilating anything that was once resting on its hard surface into its destructive depths.